


Buzzcuts and Cigarettes

by Halequinne



Category: Bandom, My Chemical Romance
Genre: Haircuts, M/M, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:29:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/301244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Halequinne/pseuds/Halequinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Knowing Gerard as well as Frank did, Frank could safely assume it was a terrible decision for him."</p><p>-Set on tour between Helena and Ghost Of You videos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buzzcuts and Cigarettes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [no_mutiny](https://archiveofourown.org/users/no_mutiny/gifts).



> For her prompt "Chesterfield King" <3

Frank’s head tipped back as he laughed, face relaxed as the incandescent light spilled across his features. His hair fell back and tickled at his ear, but he didn’t care, that wasn’t what this moment was about. He heard the high pitched sound he was making, and maybe another time he would not be able to help but blush a little, but that wasn’t what this was about either.

What this moment was about was Gerard, standing next to Frank in the centre of the bathroom on the stationary bus, wielding a pair of scissors. He was currently unable to decide if he could go through with cutting off his hair, regardless of how many times he’d made sweeping statements about sacrifice for the sake of art, like it was the most important decision of his life. But knowing Gerard as well as Frank did, Frank could safely assume it _was_ a terrible decision or him.

Hence the laughter.

Frank tried to suppress his giggles as he sunk to the floor and curled himself up like a pretzel. A moment later Gerard sat next to him, flicking the scissors around his fingers, careless of the safety hazard. He’d showered in preparation for the hair chopping, so Frank could smell the fruit and herb scent of his friend’s shampoo lingering in the small space between them. His hand twitched, wanting to touch the smooth, damp strands – finally clean for the first time in what could easily be well over a month – a previously unknown texture that he could add to the compartment labelled _Gerard_ in his brain. Frank wriggled around until he was sitting on his hands to combat the problem.

“How wrong can it possibly go?” Frank asked when he finally trusted that the instant he opened his mouth he wouldn’t go through a resurgence of the laughter.

Gerard just gave him a look full of challenge. It was a look that so obviously said that Frank should know _exactly_ how wrong a haircut could go, from personal experience.

“Well,” Frank continued defensively. “Worse case scenario, you have to shave your head and tell everyone that you’re actually fighting cancer and your hair was a wig all along.” It was Gerard’s turn to laugh then, his face lighting up as he showed his teeth and squinted his eyes, closing them every few moments, shaking as the almost musical sound fell from his lips. Frank’s hand was already out from underneath him and half way to Gerard’s jaw before he even realised what he was doing and pulled it back as fast as he could, hoping his friend’s eyes were closed in that second.

If they weren’t, Gerard didn’t mention it. He just continued to laugh, allowing Frank to remind himself, once again, that he could only do that if they were in front of hundreds of kids. Only when it wasn’t real.

When Frank noticed the sudden quiet and looked up, Gerard had stopped laughing and was just smiling at him. Frank knew his eyes crinkled at the edges even though he couldn’t see at the moment since most of Gerard’s face was obscured by his hair. But Frank could fill in the blanks. Frank could remember the small dimples that formed at both sides of his mouth when his lips pulled like that; how his cheekbones stuck out a little more with a grin; how his skin was entirely flawless besides the fading little red mark below his right eye – the remains of the only blemish Gerard had been afflicted with in the entire time Frank had known him. It was silent between them, but not _exactly_ uncomfortable, especially not when Gerard continued the conversation like the moment had passed him unnoticed.

“Chemo patient, huh?” He said with that same grin still tugging his mouth up at the corners. “I don’t even… No. Just no. If it gets to that, I _will_ buy a fucking wig.”

The high-pitched giggle bubbled up and out of Frank’s mouth again, and again he didn’t care. Gerard was laughing too and it occurred to Frank that he could listen to that sound forever and never feel like he was missing anything. God, he was so far gone with this whole Gerard situation that… The fact that there actually was a _Gerard situation_ was problematic enough, let alone that it had gotten so far out of control that Frank’s limbs were not always co-operating anymore. He needed to get out of the confined space.

But Gerard chose that moment to let his head fall heavily onto Frank’s shoulder, wet hair tickling his cheek. “Tell me what to _do_ , Frankie!” He cried out with a laugh that was more movement than sound.

Frank squeezed his eyes shut, the scent of a clean Gerard overwhelming him for a moment. He forced out a laugh and ran his fingers through the wet locks that brushed his face, then scolding himself and pulling his hand back. His mind registered without his permission how soft Gerard’s hair was now that it was clean. But not before he heard the small sound his friend made into his arm.

Oh, God. “Hey, I’m just gonna head out for a bit,” he said suddenly, ignoring the demand. “When I get back, you’re not allowed to still be in here deciding if you’re gonna do it yourself or wait the few weeks and get Mark’s girl to do it for you, okay?”

Gerard grumbled in protest – Frank wasn’t sure if it was about him leaving or the pressure to decide and he didn’t allow his brain to hope – and pressed his face further against Frank’s arm, shaking his head slowly. But Frank summoned strength from somewhere and pressed the deadweight away, scrambling to his feet and ruffling the damp hair as he left the bathroom.

“Frankie?” He spun back to Gerard’s voice, it was soft and nervous. _Maybe?_ No, he wouldn’t let himself think that… Even though Gerard’s mouth was open like he was about to say something important, his eyes wide as he stared up at Frank. But then he flinched a little, as though a moth had flown at his face and smiled weakly. “Can you get me some smokes?” He asked, voice even weaker than his smile.

But Frank just smiled back at him. “Sure thing, Gee,” he nodded and made his exit, stumbling from the bus and avoiding the three pairs of onlooking eyes that followed him out.

Frank’s feet stumbled a little on the stairs as he flung himself unceremoniously out the door. “Fuck,” he muttered as he spun and slammed the sliding door closed and turned back to the cold, empty car park. He shivered at the sudden chill and scowled at the early evening dimming of the light. Winter was less than ideal as far as Frank was concerned, unless there was snow that is. He missed Jersey. To be honest with himself, he missed Gerard, and he’d barely been out of his vicinity for two minutes. This was not something he should have to deal with.

He wandered away from the bus until it was out of his view, obscured by the other vehicles, buildings and trees, then he walked a little further. As he crossed another painted white line on black asphalt he realised he was in another car park. A gas station, to be precise. He dug through his pockets in search of cigarettes, finding a slightly worse for wear packet containing three sticks. Talking to people was not high on Frank’s to do list right then, but smoking was, so he had no choice but to enter the building that smelled as though the gasoline had been infused into the dirty linoleum floor.

Air flew from his lungs when he sighed as he made his way to the counter. He didn’t want to be there. Then again, he knew why: because, unlike most situations he found himself in, this was different; he couldn’t take the gamble. He was chicken shit. And if he had put himself out there he would most likely be at the gas station anyway, but Gerard wouldn’t be asking him to buy cigarettes, he’d be freaking out like a fucking diva in his bunk, trying to figure out how to let Frank down gently.

Either that or he… _No_. No, he would definitely be freaking out like a diva. He wouldn’t… He wouldn’t reach back to Frank, touch his face, shuffle closer… _No_.

“Yeah, two,” Frank repeated after the store attendant finally found the right brand of cancer. Frank sniggered in his mind again at the thought of Gerard having to wear a wig because his hair had gone so wrong he’d had to shave it off. He hoped Gerard would decide against cutting his hair, to be honest with himself. He knew a good cut could look far better than the mess it was now, but he liked the tangles of black that flew in his friend’s face, washed or not. He dropped cash on the counter, taking the packets and tucking them into his back pockets as he strode out, getting caught up only by a woman just outside the door. She was wearing an old, worn out poncho, even more worn brown pants and sneakers that may have once been blue. The woman smiled hopefully, looking from his face to the box with the three cigarettes in it and back again.

“Do you have a spare?” She asked quietly, as though she was expecting an outright no. Frank figured that she’d heard the word no a lot in her life and shrugged, pulling out two sticks and handed her one, along with the couple of coins of change he was still holding. Her face lit up as she took them and she planted a small kiss on his cheek. “Bless you,” she said before returning to the shadows.

Frank stood for a moment, the light from the store bathing his back and throwing his shadow onto the ground over the eight feet in front of him. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what his brain was trying to process, he was well passed the shock and surprise that hit him when he first figured out that his band mate meant more to him than just a singer in his band, or even his best friend, should. No, Frank had come to terms with that situation long ago, even if it had taken a long time to do so. The awkwardness around him and the sexuality crisis had long since passed. He’d hoped the emotions would pass soon enough too, but they never did, and every time Frank found himself in close quarters (closer than the already cramped living that was the tour bus) with Gerard, his chest tightened more and his teeth bit deeper trenches into the inside of his lip. His _NJ_ tattoo was probably permanently warped by now.

“It doesn’t make any difference,” he muttered to himself angrily and pulled himself off the side of the building, stomping out into the parking lot. Whatever there was between himself and Gerard, it was limited to the stage, to the fans, to those who would say it is wrong. And if only that were enough for Frank. But it wasn’t stage-Gerard that he was inexplicably drawn to. Yes, stage-Gerard was a fucking amazing guy too, but it was the artist that Frank was after – the man who could lose himself so entirely in something that he would swear black and blue that it had only taken two hours to cross the dust of Arizona. Frank had been the focus of that attention once or twice and he could remember how it made him squirm in the best possibly way: it was intense, yet comforting, and made it seem as though he was the only important thing in the world.

The last time he had kissed Gerard on stage, a look had passed between them that had made Frank stumble back to his microphone stand, feeling like Gerard had held Frank’s entire being in his warm grasp for that fraction of a second.

Or something equally emotional that sounds far less lame.

But still, Frank shuddered with something like yearning in the dark lot at the memory. He slammed his fist into the railing, swearing at his thoughts as much as the self-inflicted pain. What was he _thinking_? Pulling back memories of kissing Gerard, like it would happen for real? He was being ridiculous. There was no way that…

 _”Frankie?”_ Gerard’s voice sounded again in his brain like a protest. It wasn’t the nickname that was different to hear, it was the tone the man had said it with. It suddenly hit Frank that Gerard hadn’t intended on asking for smokes. He looked at the ground, eyes opening more and more every second as information started to slot into place, filling pages in a book he thought he would never get to read.

He knew there was a chance that his math was wrong – it had never been his strong suit – and that Gerard’s wavering voice, his hands, even on stage, his fucking _lips_ didn’t add up to what he hoped it did, but his brain didn’t care about that anymore apparently. However, he had showed promise during his short time studying psychology before the band – before Gerard – and everything he’d learned pointed to _yes_.

Yes.

Before he could consider anything different, he was almost running back out of the parking lot, the chill settling in the air tearing up his lungs but his skin stayed hot. His brain wasn’t entirely processing what he was about to do; it had jumped to after, when Gerard would sit down with him and snuggle into his side as he passed him the new pack of cigarettes, Frank would hold up his lighter and set the end alight before doing the same to his own. He would sit there with Gerard, hand in hand and trace over the lines on the singer’s smooth palms with his callused fingertips. They might curl up and watch movies once their smokes had burned down to the filter and they could head back inside. They might even head back, hand in hand, or arms wrapped around one another, to one bunk…

The buses were in sight again. Frank couldn’t see the MCR one as it was hidden behind three others of the same size and a couple of vans. He hadn’t even noticed it had started to rain lightly until his footsteps slowed. His breathing was heavy as he walked quickly until the right bus came into view. When it did, Frank’s breath hitched for a moment; Gerard was sitting on the steps, head bowed down and his hair – still long – covering his face as he held it in his hands, a tiny cloud of steam appearing at every exhale.

“Gerard?” Frank asked the shrunken figure on the steps, head cocked to the side as he tried to catch a glimpse of expression.

But he didn’t need to peer past the obscuring curtain, because Gerard looked up as soon as he heard his name. “Frank?” He asked back, peering into the damp darkness in the shadow of the bus as it blocked the nearest street lamp. Frank watched as he pushed his hair back off his face, his eyes looked a little more sunken than usual, but that might have just been the light.

Frank stopped walking for a moment, his brain completely shut off and his eyes locked on Gerard’s. They were wide and more expressive than he had seen them in a while; beautiful. Before he knew what was happening, his lips were moving slightly, a small sound tumbling out.

“Gee,” he said softly, and as he heard it, his brain began to function again, bringing his limbs back into action.

Frank strode forward, right up to the man curled on the bus steps, more sure of himself than he had been in weeks. He paused for a moment, only a moment, as Gerard looked up at him before his hands shot out, grasping Gerard’s jacket collar and pulling him to his feet. The instant he was stable – if only because he was pulled flush against him – and before he could manage to get a word out, Frank shifted his hand to sit at the back of Gerard’s neck and pulled him down as he surged forwards onto his toes to reach up.

Their lips collided heavily and for a moment they just stared at one another, both uncertain as to what exactly had happened. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what Gerard’s lips felt like, but the situation was the thing that had changed so dramatically. But then it dawned on Frank, what he had done, what he had managed to do. He suddenly felt fearless and unstoppable, not caring what the outcome would be. He had done it, now Gerard knew, and Frank didn’t care for just a moment if he was about to be punched in the face or pulled in closer – it didn’t matter anymore. The weight had been lifted, the second-guessing, the waiting, the cowardice; it was all gone.

So, as Gerard stared widely at him in their close proximity, Frank just closed his eyes.


End file.
